The Beginning of the End (Book 2): Toward the Brink II (14 page)

Etheridge looked the soldiers up and down. He didn’t know or care what part of the service they were from. Soldiers were soldiers as far as he was concerned … they carried guns, invaded other countries, killed, raped, and pillaged, all at the behest of their faceless masters. Etheridge was one such master who used men like these to do his dirty work, but never before had he experienced the displeasure of being so close to soldiers.

There were also two flight crew members and two men manning the twin Browning .50 machine guns on either side of the chopper.

That Holmes could produce a chopper and crew with armed guards and a fully equipped unit at a moment’s notice without any trouble was the reason his membership in the Chamber was valued so highly. With his security clearance, he could do what generals and presidents could do, but faster and without leaving a trace.

“Our plans have been altered, no doubt, sir, but I have a contingency …”

“You always do.”

“The cities are going to be a breeding ground for these things. We need to get out of here. Let this mess sort itself out. This chopper is taking us to Capital City Airport, Harrisburg. The airport has been shut down, but the situation isn’t as bad there—yet. We’ll board a plane with a group of contractors who’ll provide us with the security we need.”

“More soldiers, you mean?”

“Yes, Mr. Etheridge … good ones out of Fort Bragg, but they work for us now. Always have, really. Anyway, we then fly on to Anchorage, where we have a base. It’s fully stocked and maintained, but of most importance, we have control of it.”

Etheridge sat back in the harsh seat the chopper offered and contemplated his next journey in life. It wasn’t one he’d planned.

Anchorage. He hated snow and cold, but compared to how life was here in the lower forty—eight states, he could learn to live with it.

“Well, let’s make it happen then, Mr. Holmes.” He slapped Holmes on the knee in a jovial fashion. That he referred to Holmes as ‘Mr.’ once more didn’t escape the former spymaster. His mentor was pleased, and he felt good.

Elliot walked twenty yards in front of the Hummer, down the old dirt road that led to his aunt’s house. He was glad for the headlights. Without them, the tall blue spruce trees along the side of her drive would have made it darker than an alleyway in New York City.

“Dad, Aunt Kath, it’s me, Elliot. Are you there?” he called as he neared.

If anyone was there they’d have heard, or at least seen the approaching lights by now.

There were no lights on in the old off-white clapboard house ahead. Elliot tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, his guts hollow. Maybe they had left before it got too bad. It was a hope he clung to.

He got to the big circular drive area in front of the porch. He noticed straight off there were no cars. He turned back toward the the Tall Man and Mulhaven and raised both arms to shoulder level, the look of frustration and despair clear in the headlights. His heart sank, and he felt a rise from his stomach.

Oh no! Not now, not me, not after all…

“Elliot, is that you?” a man called from the direction of the house.

“Dad!” He beamed, the nausea subsided.

“Elliot, who’s with you?”

“They’re friends, Dad, friends.” He started to run toward the house. He still hadn’t seen his father, had just heard his voice.

“Tell them to turn their goddamn headlights off and get your ass up here!” called Elliot’s Aunt Kath, never a shy one when it came to speaking her mind.

“I’ve got some more friends back out on the road, and …”

“Well, tell ’em to get here and get those goddamned lights out!”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll …” Mulhaven had the Hummer in reverse before Elliot turned. The Tall Man had heard every word.

Elliot continued on to the house. Without the headlights, the dark was overwhelming. A flashlight, not ten yards away, came on.

“Elliot, you m-made it … you damn well made it!” James Goodwin stuttered between sobs as he rushed out to see his boy again.

Father and son practically knocked each other over as they embraced. Neither voiced their concern, but inside, the possibility that they would never see each other again had gnawed at their bones like a voracious rat.

“So good to see you again, Elliot … so good. I thought …”

The arrival of the other vehicles, with only their running lights on, brought the elder Goodwin back to an alert state.

“Who are these friends you spoke of, Elliot?”

“Yes, Elliot, and can they be trusted?” his aunt joined in.

She was to one side. The flashlight didn’t illuminate all of her or the double-barreled shotgun she carried.

“Yeah, they can be trusted, all right. Saved my life, they have. Without them I wouldn’t have made it here. And you’re gonna’ love Chuck. If anyone can get us out of this mess alive, it’s him and Riley.”

The three vehicles of the Twin Falls group pulled to the side of the small clearing, away from the family reunion.

“Let’s all get inside. We can make the introductions then,” Kath instructed.

James shone the flashlight toward the outside cellar doors. Strong, heavy doors with large hinges set into concrete.

“Over there, let’s go!”

A hulking silhouette passed between Kath and the light. The Tall Man. She caught a glimpse of his features.

If that’s the Chuck Elliot referred to, then perhaps I will love him.

Thoughts like these hadn’t crossed her mind for some time, but she welcomed them now. With all the death and disaster, it made her feel human again. She watched as the tall shadow moved with precision to the cellar doors with the older man. The light from the cellar reflected on them. Like soldiers—they moved like soldiers.

Oh, I hope they’re not soldier boys! Her grip on the shotgun intensified.

“Come on, Kath!” James hurried her. It was time to get inside. Night had fallen.

Like a cheap garment from Walmart, the composure of Milton Etheridge was about to unravel. From a seat on a flying eggbeater to an equally uncomfortable position on a C-17 Globemaster III, he’d begun to wonder if indeed this was how torture felt. Nevertheless, he was impressed once again with Holmes’s ability to acquire, at a moment’s notice, such a high-end piece of machinery as the C-17. Not that Etheridge knew what it was called, but he figured it wasn’t a piece of junk left at the end of a runway somewhere.

“Where to now, Holmes?”

“Sir, we are to pick up some of our people in Iowa City. There’s an airport we can get into, and we’ve made arrangements for them to be there. Then we will head to Canada to pick up a contingent there, sir.” Holmes yelled as the noise of the engines increased.

Etheridge looked around the plane to see that rows of seats had been fitted into this cargo airlifter. The thirty or so men in camouflage battle dress, armed with M4 carbines, were the last to board. They took their places aft while Etheridge, Holmes, and their dark-suited bodyguards sat forward with the other twenty or so members of the Chamber who had decided to make the trip. Anywhere was better than in the midst of the apocalypse.

“To Canada, you say?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Etheridge. It should be stable. Canada hasn’t been hit hard like the US,” Holmes lied. There hadn’t been any communication at all with Chamber people, nor with his contacts in the intelligence underworld, and nothing from government departments. The entire land mass of the north had gone as dark as the night … but not as quiet.

“And from there, on to Anchorage, where I presume there will be plenty of heat for us.” He stared back at the uniformed men through a creased brow after he emphasized “us.”

In a few hours they would land at Iowa City Municipal Airport. It was barely big enough for the C-17, but with the experience of the pilots aboard, it could be done. A dismal turnout of members would await them in Iowa. Nevertheless, they would pick them up then move to their next destination of Prince George, British Columbia.

Etheridge and Homes couldn’t possibly have any idea that the president and some staff were also headed to Prince George, nor of the irony the situation presented.

“Well, I hope the natives aren’t restless, because I’m sure the ride in this bucket of bolts won’t encourage any sleep at all.”

Holmes smiled at the elder statesman of the Chamber then helped to strap him into his seat. As he did, he wondered what it would be like should they survive and come out the other side of the apocalypse.

Would it be worth going on?

“Sir!” Tom Transky raced back to inform the president, who was still in conversation with the first lady. “We have a situation which will require a change of plans.”

“What kind of a situation, Tom? What did the pilot tell you?”

“Well, sir, I, err … “He looked at the first lady.

“I think the time for correct protocol is behind us, don’t you, Tom?” The president pulled his tie from his collar and undid the top buttons.

“Yes, sir, of course.” Tom took a seat on the other side of the president. “Sir, the pilot was able to establish radio contact with one of the fighter planes involved in General Stodge’s firebombing campaign. Sir, the runway at Vancouver is a disaster, according to the fighter pilot. How he knew this I don’t know, but we have no choice but to avoid it. Theoretically, we could make it to Graham Island, but the plane isn’t carrying a full load of fuel.”

The president felt his wife’s hand tighten around his. “Why is that?”

“Sir, with the closure of the airports, there hasn’t been a need to fuel any planes, and no deliveries were made either. We were lucky to get as much as we did.”

The president took his hands from his wife’s grip and leaned toward Tom. “Has the pilot found another place to land?”

“Yes, sir, but the problem is this plane might be too big for the runway, if it’s clear.”

“If it’s clear?” The first lady pressed her fingers to her lips.

The scenario wasn’t promising: a jet on the low end of its fuel capacity forced to land on an unmanned runway that might not be long enough, at night, with no lights, and with no guarantee that it was clear for a landing.

“Are there any other alternatives, Tom?” The president sat up straight in his chair.

“Well, sir, the pilot said we’d have no other choice but to try to put it down on a highway, and …”

The first lady jumped to her feet. Landings scared her the most when it came to flying. The thought of landing on a highway in Canada with all those damn pine trees along the sides of the road was sheer terror. The president stood and took her hand before she had a chance to speak.

“Tom,” the president said with an air of calm that didn’t fit the tension of the moment, “exactly where is this airport?”

“Prince George, sir. The town is called Prince George.”

“Sir, Mr. Etheridge!” Holmes hollered above the noise of the aircraft’s engines. “The pilot informed me we’ll touch down around daylight, sir.”

Holmes had been sent forward by his mentor for an estimation of their arrival time in Canada. It had been less than an hour since they had picked up the additional group at Harrisburg, and Etheridge had already run out of patience with the discomfort of a transport plane.

Etheridge nodded acknowledgment. The strain showed on his face. He’d aged ten years along with everybody else on this flight.

“Take two of these, sir. It’ll help you sleep.” Holmes struggled to keep his feet as he handed Etheridge a bottle of Restoril. Transport planes were not known for their smooth ride.

“Well, maybe I will get some sleep, eh, Holmes?” Etheridge reached for the flask of Scotch in his jacket and popped the cap.

After dropping three capsules into his mouth, he took a good-sized swig of Scotland’s most famous beverage. “Ahh… that hit the spot, Holmes?”

“Thank you, sir.” Holmes took the flask.

I could do with a bloody bucket of this stuff, he thought.

“Let’s see how we do.” Etheridge wrapped his expensive dark suit jacket around himself. “Wake me when we get to … to … What was the name of that place again?”

“Prince George, sir.”

Etheridge nodded and pulled his coat tighter. Holmes then took a seat on the opposite side of him. There was enough room up at this end of the plane. He finished off the flask of whiskey and closed his eyes to get some sleep as well, or at least attempt it.

Both men slept for the rest of the journey, not a peaceful sleep by any means. Both dreamed of the events of the last few days and their involvement. Neither man would have thought in their wildest dreams that Prince George would not only be their destination, it would be their fate. And Milton Etheridge would be more than thankful for the soldiers.

After introductions were made, a few hot coffees were served, along with a glass or two of Canadian Club whiskey for the men, and a light snack. The conversation moved rapidly to the current state they were in. The stairs outside the cellar door led to an underground bunker Elliot’s aunt had built some years back as she had prepared herself for the inevitable nuclear devastation. She hadn’t thought it would be used for an undead apocalypse.

Kath Goodwin knew about much of what had occurred in Idaho from James. Still, she was interested in their exploits on the way. She knew of the foamers from James, the internet (no longer available—no electricity), and personal experience. The stories of attacks by armed gangs didn’t surprise her, either. She, along with James, had dealt with the situation on more than one occasion. Elliot’s description of the mutant children did, however, send a chill up her back.

The Tall Man and Mulhaven wanted to know more about the state of affairs in the area—how bad was it, and what, if any, resources might be available. Kath understood. They could catch up on history later. She was elated to have company, real live human beings, again.

James was also pleased by the company, but for Kath, the excitement went one better. In her late forties now, she was considered quite attractive and never had trouble catching the eye of a man half her age. She had never married, had never found anyone worth it, but she didn’t live like a convent nun either. She liked her men tall and fit. Once inside her basement bunker with all the lights on, she got her first good look at the man introduced as Charles “just call me Chuck” Black. For a moment she forgot about the crisis, the spreading pandemic, and the pain.